How can people sense a Masturbator?

I know for a fact that people can tell the differece between a player, a relationship man, and a Peter Beater. I have been mostly a Peter Beater, but I thought private matters where supposedly obscured but I think somehow people can tell by the way we carry ourselves. Can I get some feed back on this?

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good q uestion Stephen.well my wife’s [ she passed way 2 years ago] know about my life as an impotent cuckold, i let her sisters caught me stroking many times. my g.f. now know of my addiction to solo sex [she is an expert on computers]i leave her by herself in my place so she can read about me on my computer[ turns me onto be known as a pathetic masturbator , makes me stroke furiously] i don’t know if she told her daughter [they are very close ] she made some remarks about me having a lot of times by myself etc….i sure hope my g.f. will cuckold me,if she hasn’t already.[ she goes by herself to a club were there is many single guys ] at the pub i go by myself [ g.f. doesn’t drink ] there is still two waitresses left from the time my wife was going with some of the pub costumers, the two girls know about me.the other waitresses as well as ladies costumers i know most sense some thing maybe they think ‘m gay? or the waitresses talk among them self? or most likely it show in my looks [ skinny, pale,most of the time stroking with my left hand trough the hole in my pants pocket.i stroke slowly but love for people to notice and be known as an addicted wanker.i was blessed with a big cock 8″ and the elastic bandage i use gets it bloated and fat around .i wish it was even bigger for people to notice more.so stephen by my behavior an observer would conclude than yesss i’m a masturbator.[ they would be surprise how much i stroke ]

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In some cases I think it is very obvious. A guy who is nerdy and awkward, clearly interested in girls yet always alone, might as well have “masturbator” tattooed on his forehead. I think girls look at a guy like that and think “I’d never fuck him and probably no one else would either. He’s horny and he’s alone, so he has to be a masturbator.” This was me in my younger days.

Sometimes it’s more subtle – maybe the guy doesn’t look that nerdy but he’s shy and awkward around women, shows no confidence, can’t look them in the eye, doesn’t know what to say. This guy is obviously not experienced with women so it’s not hard to guess that he’s probably a masturbator.

Actually when I was young I fit into both of those categories.

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I think women can sense a masturbator and for me that’s a good thing. I too love to beat my meat, small and single I have noticed women react to me by pulling their skirts tighter or closing their legs or giving me a sternlook as they catch me sneaking a look in my local coffee shop, it’s as if they know I am going to go home and masturbate myself longing for pussy. It’s as if they can sense my shame that my sex life consists of rubbing and beating my meat but also that my excessive masturbation gives me great pleasure. It’s exciting to me when women look at me and think Peter beater.

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i know people can tell we are maturbators by looking in our eyes…bator eyes…i feel people can see by looking in my eyes that i masturbate all the time..everytime i use a public restroom i feel they know ive been masturbating in there…maybe its just me wanting them to know how proud of a masturbator i am…

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I like to think that females can recognize masturbators by the subtle signs referred to in the previous posts. I like to think that they are sympathetic and take special pity on us. I also am grateful that they harbor no false expectations of our sexual capabilities and therefore are not disappointed by our failures.

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My married female friend of 7 years, like me in her mid forties, asked me if I had a girlfriend when she first met me I told her no, a few weeks later she walked up her basement stairs in front of me, she suddenly pulled her skirt tight I guess to prevent me looking up, which I hadn’t intended to do, she probably thought I would get a look and as I was single obviously I would go home and masturbate. At the time I was insulted and a little embarrassed as she clearly sensed I was a masturbator, but she was right I had masturbated to her and have done so many times since. I still see her and she knows I am still single and it excites me now to think she must suspect I am content to masturbate and feel no need for a partner. I wonder what she would say if she knew how MUCH I masturbated,how often I think of her when I masturbate, that It excites me to post intimate details of my masturbation for others to read or that I fantasize about masturbating with other people men and women and that I am a chronic meat beater.

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Of course she knows you are a masturbator, Phillip, girls always know, and I think that some married women appreciate us all the more if they allow themselves to think about how a little sight of a breast or a leg or a hot nipple will lead us to worship her as a sex goddess.

And some will take pity on us, knowing, instinctively, how MUCH we do masturbate, and how hopeless and pathetic we are. And I wonder, since you have know her for so long, if she’s perhaps discussed you with your mutual friends, as some time or another…just a hint or a word, or even a fleeting expression…

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Ohhh…i loved that little video. That could have easily been me being caught on video like that – i’ve masturbated through my pants more than once in a store, though never in an adult store before (i was always too paranoid that the clerks would be on high alert for such behavior).

As i watched the video of that naughty, shameful masturbator firmly and quickly stroking his obvious hard-on and creaming his pants, i imagined what might have happened if he’d been caught.

Stroke, stroke, strokestrokestroke…letting go, trying to edge, but ohh, nooo…bending at the waist, pressing his thighs together and trying desperately not to cum, realizing he went too far and sent his throbbing cock past the point of no return…feeling the sweet pressure rising, the pleasure intensifying, the glossy picture of the lewdly-posing woman in the porn magazine he’s holding seeming to encourage him to let go and cum for her…

But then, as he feels the first spurts of ejaculating semen staining the front of his pants with their hot goo, he hears the clicking of boot-heels on the tile floor coming around the corner. The store clerk – a Goth girl with black dyed hair up in pigtails and bangs walks around the corner. She has a studded black collar around her neck, and wears a dark red crop-top tank over a skintight black mesh long-sleeved shirt; a teasingly short plaid skirt with a studded belt, black fishnets with holes torn in them, and chunky black Doc Martens boots. She stops dead in her tracks, looking at him as he bends slightly at the waist, unable to stop the orgasms from spurting into his pants, and she glances down at the spreading stains that give away his perversion. She crosses her arms and sneers at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You think you can just walk into an adult bookshop and jack off into your pants?”

As he stands there, unable to stop the last few squirts of his cum from leaking out of his penis in front of the Goth girl, she frowns at him. “What were you gonna do, put that boobs-and-butt magazine back on the shelf and leave without paying for it? I bet you were, you pathetic wanker-pants fuck. You know we have cameras all over the store, don’t you?” She points up behind him at the surveillance camera mounted in the ceiling corner; he’d never looked up from the shelves before to notice it. His face grew hot red as he felt his own cum dribbling down his inner thigh, inside his pants.

The Goth girl grinned wickedly. “You know, there are laws against jerking off in public. I could take that footage and give it to the cops. You wanna have to go pay a fine for being a masturbator? Wanna go to jail for jerking off? That’ll be hard to explain, don’t you think?”

As the poor, mortified masturbator stammered and begged and pleaded for her not to expose him, the Goth girl continued to grin, rocking back and forth on her booted heel. “Okay, jerk-off. Tell you what. I’ll let it go – this time – but you’ve gotta buy that magazine you were wanking to.” She reached down and plucked the magazine from the shelf, holding it up to examine it for a moment. “Boobs N’ Butts,” she read from the cover, “Fuckin’ A, those are some thick girls. You like ’em a li’l chunky, don’t you, jerk-off? You ever fuck a girl like this in real life?”

The humiliation of having to admit he’d never had the pleasure of being fucked by such a woman was almost as bad as being caught masturbating. The Goth girl nodded knowingly.

“Uh-huh. Figures you’re too much of a faggot to even get it into a girl. Why else would you be whacking it to a magazine in a sex store, right? All right, come on.” She shoved the magazine into his trembling hands and walked up toward the register. He meekly followed her, and though his shame was intense, he couldn’t keep his eyes from lingering over her fishnet-clad legs and thighs. He noticed how her plaid skirt flounced with every step she took, giving him the slightest, quickest glimpses of the curve of her bottom cheeks as it swayed. He got to the register and put his porn magazine on the counter sheepishly. There was a platform behind the counter, so the Goth girl towered over him. He felt like he was on trial for being a masturbator. He also desperately wanted to wipe away the dribbly rivulets of semen that continued to trickle down his inner thighs.

The Goth girl rang up the magazine. “Eight seventy-five,” she said. He got out his wallet and paid in cash.

“If you’re serious about wanting to fuck a girl like that,” she said, “I have a friend who could be in that magazine.” He looked up, still embarrassed but intrigued. She said, “I could give you her email address if you wanted to try hooking up with her. She’s fucked all kinds of losers, so you might have a chance with her.”

She scribbled the address on the back of a business card and slipped it underneath the glossy cover of the magazine. A voluptuous woman on her hands and knees looked back over her shoulder with a wide-eyed, innocent look, seeming to be looking up at him from the cover of the magazine invitingly. “Tell her Roxy gave you her address.” He nodded, mumbling his thanks, but then he looked down at the magazine, then at his stained pants (which would be impossible to hide), and the front door of the store. He had parked three blocks away from the store just so there would be no chance of anyone he knew in town spotting his car in the parking lot. That was a long walk to make with cum-stained pants.

“C-could i have a bag?” he asked timidly.

“I’m not giving you a fucking bag, loser!” she said tartly. “Take your skin mag and get the hell out of here. Maybe you can come back if she says you can.” She tapped the card peeking out of the top of the magazine. “Otherwise, don’t ever come back here, you fuckin’ jack-off, or I’ll kick your ass and THEN call the cops.”

He quickly grabbed the magazine and shuffled out of the store. He hoped no one would see him as he embarrassedly stuffed the magazine up under his shirt and began to jog away.

As the door shut, Roxy smiled to herself, shaking her head. “Another jerk-off going to Dolly’s Pervert Punishment School,” she said. “These are the easiest commissions I ever got. Who knew there were so many masturbators in this city?”

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That reminds me of a old fantasy of mine. Back pre-internet I used to frequent the porn shops. A local one called the Toy Box (Kevin knows it well I’m sure) often had a female cashier. As I remember she was kind of a MILF, mature, maybe late thirties but pretty hot, I would have done her anytime.

When I paid for my skin mags she would bag them, hand them to me, and always say “Have a good one!”

Now maybe she just meant “Have a nice day” but I prefer to think she meant ” I hope you have a really good jack-off session when you get home!”

This created all sorts of fantasies. I fantasized (and wished) that she would get a little more talkative. Maybe open one of the mags and say “is this what you like to jack off to? You know if you tell me what kind of jack off material you like I bet I could help you find some stuff that’ll really get your dick hard. I see you in here alot, so that means you jack of alot right? Say have you tried this new lube we got in? Some of the other masturbators tell me it’s really good.”

As I leave the store she smiles, winks, and makes the JO sign with her hand. “Have a good time, and think of me when you squirt OK?”
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Mmmmm, that’s a wonderful thought. i would have liked to go into that store, just for the experience of having to show her the fetish magazines that most turned me on. She would know exactly what i was thinking of and longing for as i wanked my little penis, and the embarrassment of having to face a real woman while obtaining my jerk-off goodies would be delicious.

Imagine if she knew about us chronic masturbators? Obviously, she knows that every guy who buys such a magazine is going to be hand-humping to it, but imagine if she knew how we thought! She might have been more vocal about what we were going to do with those magazines, commenting on our choices, asking us what aroused us most about them, and encouraging us to have fun wanking off to them.

If she knew how absorbed we tend to get with our onanistic excesses, jerking ourselves to the point of masturbatory impotence, she could have felt quite safe in making us more aroused with such talk. None of us would have ever tried to do anything with her; even if we ever got so bold, about the most aggressive we would have gotten would be to make a clumsy proposition to her. If that ever happened, she could chuckle and shake her head, smiling, “No, honey, I don’t date masturbators…but I’m sure you’d really rather wank off to a fantasy girl than try to have sex with a woman, wouldn’t you? Like one of these luscious vixens here…” She would trace her fingernail sensuously over the girl on the cover of your porn magazine. “It’s such hard work to satisfy a woman, and I’m even more demanding than most…but it’s oh so easy to tickle that thing between your legs all night long, isn’t it? You’re really better off with your hand down your own pants, don’t you think?” She’d smile and say, “You go ahead and get on home, because I know your penis is just throbbing to get out and be fondled, and these Muses need their tribute.” She would wink as she bagged up your shameful purchases, “Have fun wanking off tonight, love.” She’d make a little wanking-off motion with her hand and laugh warmly as you turned to leave. “Make a little spurt for me, okay?”

She would have ensured that she got a LOT of repeat business, to be sure! And after she started to recognize us – being her regulars – she’d greet us with things like, “If it isn’t my favorite masturbator! Do you need any lubricants today? We’ve got a sale on Fleshlights…” She might take some enjoyment in addressing us openly like that in front of other people in the store, creating an environment that is both humiliating for us but also comforting and welcome…

(Speaking of my original fantasy, after I submitted it I realized that I’d forgotten to put in the part where the masturbator complains that he can’t go out into the street with cum-stains on his pants, so the Goth girl pulls open the front of his pants, looks him right in the eyes, and pours her soda down into his crotch. “Oops,” she says with a satisfied grin, “looks like you spilled your Coke.”

In my ideal world, maybe the Goth girl could alternate shifts with the warmly encouraging 30-something clerk?)